


Birds of a Feather

by CardamomDaydream



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Light Angst, M/M, Monster Jaskier | Dandelion, mentions of abuse, very light and not explicit but still want to warn you, well sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardamomDaydream/pseuds/CardamomDaydream
Summary: Geralt is given the job of hunting down a monster said to be luring away a village's women, but upon meeting him the monster is not all he appears to be.AKAGeralt and Jaskier's cross country, curse reversing road-trip where maybe they fall in love along the way.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

It had been 3 days since the last backwater hamlet and every part of him was soaked through from the rain that hadn’t let up since. Geralt knew from the spindly columns of smoke he saw a few miles off the next town was far too small for an inn or possibly even tavern. Even less likely was a town like that having a monster for him. These woods, so far removed from humanity, held a great deal of monsters, sure. He heard them at night, clicking and scuttling through the underbrush some miles off. It was just the likelihood of townspeople so deep in poverty would be willing to pay for him to deal with any endrega or foglets that wandered too close. At the very least he hoped they didn’t just run him off on sight Most of these smaller towns, untouched by outsiders, tended to do when seeing a witcher. Some only had stories from decades ago when the last witcher came through, and back then witchers had been made much colder and far more monstrous. 

When Geralt finally crested the hill that led down into the valley he saw a small group of farmers milling about, hunched over soggy earth, weeding and tending to crops. Children were using reeds to guide pigs up the sole, muddy road. He turned his head toward the setting sun and noted that no one seemed too bothered by the growing darkness. Geralt sighed knowing he would find no monsters here. Geralt dismounted from Roach, hunching beneath his cloak in a way he was taught made humans more comfortable. None of the houses stood out from each other to indicate a town head, and most of the barns were low pens for fowl and pigs. It all smelled of mud, though preferable to the sour smell of unwashed bodies and animal shit that permeated these towns in drier seasons. 

As he drew nearer Geralt noticed the heads in fields popping up to eye him, his and Roach's squelching footsteps finally being heard over the light patter of rain. One of them slowly rose, grunting while placing a hand on his knee to pull himself up. With a nod, he called out, “Witcher.” 

Geralt slowed to a stop. The man wasn't immediately antagonistic, which boded well for the “being run out of town” possibility. He watched as the farmer lumbered forward, carefully stepping over wilted potato leaves. 

“ ‘fraid to say we ‘aven’t got any work for ya here. No monsters in Mulbrydale, least none that bother us.” Geralt grunted in acknowledgment. 

“Have you got a barn, for my horse, get her out of the rain?” Folk would occasionally feel more sympathetic for Roach than himself and Geralt was aching for somewhere dry to spend the night. 

“Nah. Last of our larger barns fell down in a storm ‘bout five years back. We just keep the smaller stuff here, land ain’t good enough to be feedin’ cattle or keepin’ horses. No need for you to stay here, witcher.” With a thick thumb, the peasant gestured toward the other end of the road on the far side of the town where it disappeared back into the woods. Geralt got the message, he wasn’t wanted here, and at least he was told so in a kind enough manner. 

“I’ll be on my way then-”

“Wait, witcher! I’ve got a monster for ya.” Geralt turned to see a younger man, standing amongst the crops, face stony. 

“You have any way to pay for it?” he asked, tilting his head. 

“Aye, my wife and I were just married, I can give you some of her dowry. Her father was a blacksmith a few towns over. It’s not much, but what use is gold in a town like this anyways?” Geralt sighed, feeling the light weight of the coin purse at his side. This monster better not be anything big, or he felt it wouldn’t be worth the meager pay. “The creature lives a few miles east of town, through the woods, in some old house that was abandoned ages ago.”

The old man from before staggered closer, coming up behind Geralt. “Oh shut it, Mikel, no Witcher need bother with a creature o’ that sort.”

The younger man, Mikel, scoffed. “You only say that ‘cuz you’ve got no one left for it to take.” His eyes shot over to Geralt once more. “This thing, it draws in our women, calls to them from the woods with its song, seduces them, makes ‘em unfaithful. It took my wife.” 

Geralt could not help the small chuff of laughter that escaped his lips, and Mikel’s expression turned furios at the sound. “You think this funny?”

“A bit.” Geralt said with an easy smile. “Sounds like an incubus. They can’t make a human do anything. It simply sounds like your wife wanted a better fuck.” The man stalked forward, making to fist his hand in Geralt’s cloak. 

“Shut it you, freak. My wife hasn’t returned and I don’t care to think she would leave me for some monster. Something must've happened.” Mikel spat, some of the spittle landing on Geralt’s face. Geralt did everything not to roll his eyes. Incubi were far rarer than their female counterparts, but even those were rarely dangerous, much less lethal. Though, if the woman had truly not returned it was probably something he should check into, especially with the promise of coin. 

“Fine,” he ground out. “But I’ll need half the coin upfront. I’m not trudging through that forest for nothing.” He kept his gaze level with Mikel who, after a few tense seconds, released the front of his cloak and gave a sharp nod.

“My home is this way, follow me.” 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

The moon was already low in the sky by the time Geralt lead Roach into the cool dampness of the forest outside town. He had been right, Mikel’s dowry had only amounted to a few coins and a small gold ring. He’d hopefully just tell the wife to go home, and the incubus to move onto different hunting grounds. 

He had just made his way into the first line of trees when someone called out in a gasping voice. “Master Witcher, wait! Please, wait!” He turned to see a young woman, holding up her dress, running towards him. By the time she stood before him she was panting. “Please. Don’t kill him. He hasn’t hurt anyone," she said between wheezy breaths, fixing him with a firm look. “The monster. In the woods. Sure he’s,” she paused, eyes searching some unseen part of her mind for the next words. “He’s not evil. He’s led some of us to be unfaithful, but in a place like this it’s hard to deny the allure of someone like him. He’s kind and funny and...well if I’m being honest likely a better lay than any man here. Everyone wanted to.”

Geralt stood silent for some time before asking, “How about Mikel’s wife? She hasn’t come back.”

The young woman's face twisted up as she let out a huff. “Mikel is an ass and everyone knows it. It’s likely the poor girl, Emmeline if you cared to know, just ran off and he’s putting the blame on the creature to try and make an excuse.” Geralt hummed, glad he at least got some of the coin upfront. If he came back with no proof the creature was dead it was unlikely he’d be getting paid the rest. 

“You know what he looks like?” he asked with an arched eyebrow. Even in the waning light he could clearly see the blush form under her dirt-smudged face.

“Well, no, no I haven’t. I’m afraid I’m not all that...adventurous.” Her eyes dart into the depths of the forest, then back toward her small village. “But...Jenny did. She didn’t tell me much, just says he’s got the most lovely singing voice and the prettiest blue eyes you ever did see. Also didn’t belch or fart around her once, a real gentleman!” Geralt tried not to groan. If this is what the men of the town were competing with it was no wonder so many had slipped away to this supposed cabin, even if what resided within was truly a monster. 

He placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. She didn’t flinch away and instead looked up at him with wide eyes, as rain rolled down her face and matted her hair to her cheeks. “I’ll do my best,” he told her. “Not all monsters are monsters.” 

She gave him a small nod and a soft smile. “I hope you prove that to be true, Master Witcher.” and with that Geralt watched as she turned and made her way back to the village.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Geralt had been making his way through the woods for a better part of an hour. The sliver of the rising moon did nothing to help light the way through the thick overgrowth of trees and the forest floor was uneven with roots. He would be able to make it through with relative ease, but Roach, already tired from the last few days, risked stumbling with each step. He came to a stop underneath a particularly wide canopy and looped her reins around one of the trees. At least here they were slightly sheltered from the rain. Settling down against the base of a tree, Geralt breathed in deeply through his nose before the world dulled around him. 

He awoke to a heavy humidity in the air and birds chirping happily as they rustled in the fallen leaves searching for food. The rain must have let up sometime in the night as now yellow sunlight filtered through the leaves above. With a grunt Geralt pulled himself to his feet and removed his heavy cloak to lay it across Roach’s back. He hoped it would dry some in the warm air as they continued making their way to this supposed cabin that lay outside the town. It surely couldn’t be that deep within if multiple young women deemed the journey safe enough when far more dangerous things resided within these woods. However, humans could also be desperately horny creatures and Geralt had known more than a few to put their safety aside for a good roll in the sheets. 

The deeper he walked the more everything around him was coming to life after days of rain and chill. It was moments like these, though hunger was settling in his stomach and he hadn’t slept in a real bed in weeks, that Geralt didn’t mind the Path so much. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply the smell of fresh soil and greenery, ears listening to the birds call out to others who had just left their nests. Then right alongside joined another song. It was only notes, no words, but the sound was clearly human, or a creature similar enough to human. With a renewed sense of why he was here, Geralt turned off in the direction of the sound. As he grew closer the melody shifted into words and even to his sensitive ears Geralt could not exactly pinpoint when the change occurred. 

_There was a rich merchant all riding one day_

_When he spied Pretty Peggy all by the highway._

_He called to his coachman and loudly did say,_

_"There's a pretty fair damsel, go bring her this way."_

Geralt held out a hand to Roach and she stopped, head swinging in annoyance, though she firmly stayed put. He rounded one of the trees that broke into the edge of a clearing that was filled with the warmth of the sun from the early morning. An old cabin, if it could even be called that now with its sagging roof and rotted walls, sat in the middle of the wildly overgrown grass and weeds. Geralt’s eyes scanned the property before movement from around one of the walls drew his gaze, causing him to suck in a breath at the sight of it.

Witchers had been trained to know and identify all manner of creatures, even ones thought to be long extinct killed off by witchers past, and yet Geralt had never seen anything like this. 

It was the general size and shape of a man, though a fair bit more slender than the stocky bodies of the local farmers and peasants that occupied these parts. The most immediately striking feature was the feathers that covered his body. From a distance they were black dappled with white and covered the creature’s shoulders, and arms, trailing down its sides and thighs. Geralt watched as the being danced around in lazy circles, playing a lute with black scaled hands and claws. Long shoulder and tail feathers splayed out as it continued swirling in a pattern Geralt recognized as a Lyrian Waltz. The feathers shifted a chromatic green and purple as they hit the sunlight and all the while the monster continued to sing.

_"There's fifty gold dollars if you will comply_

_All in my bedchamber this night for to lie."_

_At the sight of the gold, she gave her consent._

_So into this bedchamber pretty Peggy she went._

Geralt watched it a moment longer. Perhaps it was some kind of harpy, though they had large wings, leathery skin, and couldn’t do much more than squawk much less hold a tune. Hand light on the small knife at his hip, Geralt pressed into the clearing, giving a loud cough to announce his presence. The thing jolted to a stop as both it and the lute gave out a disjointed shriek. Whirling on its feet and his eyes met Geralt’s. They were a clear blue that seemed even more impossibly bright surrounded by black sclera. More of those dark feathers fanned out over his forehead, disappearing underneath a mop of dark brown hair, while more scattered down his cheeks. At the center of his face was a small beak that sat where a nose should be, meeting the top of its lips. Geralt froze, trying to make sense of the thing, and trying to make himself as unthreatening as possible. He did not want to go into a fight not knowing what this thing was capable of. 

“Gods! I didn’t even hear you coming!” The creature slipped the lute onto it’s back and gives Geralt what he thinks may be an attempt at a smile though the features make it hard to read. “You know it’s awfully rude to just sneak up-” He stops for a moment, eyes catching as the sun glints off Geralt’s swords. Geralt watches as the things eyes go wide and, hands raised, slowly backed away. “Now, now dear friend. I can assure you I have nothing here worth taking. I mean look at this dump.” he gestured to the shack with sweeping arms. “I can promise I have no hidden gold or goods, not even food to my name now please, just be on your way.”

“I’m not here to kill you.” Geralt says in a low tone, slowly striding forward matching the birdman step for step. He placed his hand up in a calming gesture.

“Kill me!” yelped the other. “Who said anything about killing I’m not-” he paused again, eyes quickly scanning over Geralt. He froze, and by now the stink of fear had filled the clearing. “You’re a witcher.” he murmured, so softly most wouldn’t hear it unless stood right next to him. His eyes flickered between Geralt and off to his right once more, before bolting towards the front door of the cabin. Geralt gave chase after, quickly clearing the distance but still the door clicked into place just as he reached it. It was flimsy and rotted, easily knocked down with a push of aard. Things hadn’t escalated to a fight yet and while Geralt wasn’t known for his...patience, he knew when to hold back.

“I’m not here to kill you.” he called out again through the door. 

“Oh, right! Because witchers are so well known for their CONVERSATION!” came the reply. He was just on the other side of the wood, as though the thing was using its body to try and bar the door. 

“I’ve just come to ask about the women who come here. One of them is missing. I just want to know what happened.”

“Missing? Well, I can tell you I certainly don’t know! If a fine young lady happens to wander by and stop for a bit who am I to say no? But, they’ve all gone their own way afterward I can assure you of that!” The voice was growing indignant, rising with fear.

“What about Mikel’s wife? She hasn’t returned home.” He stood there, seconds ticking by with no response, hand slowly rising to the sword at his back.

“Well, I don’t actually know who Mikel is. But I suppose if she had a taste of me and chose not to return to her lackluster lover then that’s hardly a matter worthy of death at the hands of a Witcher don’t you think! Perhaps he should learn what pleases a woman! I think that the bigger crime.” The voice had lowered now, not quite the high pitched shriek it originally was, though still rapid and rambling, as if every thought the thing had come pouring from its mouth. Geralt sighed heavily through his nose.

“Emmeline. Her name was Emmeline.”

“Oh! Dear sweet, Emmeline. Hair like a new copper, laugh so fresh it could water the driest fields! She was-”

“Was she here, bird?” Geralt cut him off with an irritated growl.

“Oh, well, yes. But, I didn’t kill her or eat her or whatever it is you think I’ve done.” There comes another heavy pause and Geralt can hear the fast staccato of the other’s heart even out. “He beat her, that Mikel or whatever. Poor thing just wanted to be loved. All we did was talk. Then I sent her off north, toward Ursten, with the last of my worldly possessions mind you so again, please do not rob me.” Geralt’s hand fell from the hilt of his blade, knowing the words to be true. He could hear it in the beasts even heartbeat. Yeah, so much for getting paid that other half with nothing to offer but ‘You were an awful husband so she left’. 

“Witcher’s aren’t really in the robbing business.” Geralt answered while turning from the door and giving a whistle to Roach, calling her from the forest. 

“Truly? Here I had heard witchers would do anything for a bit of coin.”

“Well, folk also say witchers eat babies and have tails like dogs so perhaps you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” Geralt called out as he tightened the straps of Roach’s saddle, starting to feel rather silly having a conversation through a closed door. 

“Ah yes, and I certainly didn’t see any tail when you were threatening to gut me.” the voice chuckled from within. 

Geralt let out a hmm as he made to mount Roach. He gave one last look at the cabin before calling out. “Word of advice. Stop sleeping with married women.”

“Ah, but it seems the married ones love me most, and who am I to deny them?” came a sing-song reply. 

Geralt merely rolled his eyes, clicking as he turned Roach back towards the treeline, in the opposite direction of Mulbrydale. 

He didn’t make it more than a few feet before a voice called out once more, this time clearer. 

“Wait!” He turned to see a clawed hand holding the door open, and those large blue eyes peering through the crack in the door. “I also heard witchers are magic. Is that true?” 

“No. We can cast a few minor spells, but aren’t capable of magic as a sorcerer may be.”

He watched as the creature's face fell. “Ah, so I suppose that would be a no to curse-breaking then?” it muttered. 

“You’re cursed?” he asked, though internally punched himself for doing so. Don’t get involved Geralt, just ride away. He hit himself even harder as he watched that approximation of a smile once again spread from its beak, and the humanoid stepped forward from the door with what could only be described as a flourish and bow. 

“Alas, it is true, dear witcher. For what you see before you is not a monster, but a man!” Geralt’s face remained neutral. The thing, man, stepped closer, seemingly forgetting how moments ago he thought Geralt was here for his head. “Yes, quite the tragic tale. I used to be the handsome and talented bard known as Jaskier, perhaps you’ve heard of me?” 

“No”

“Ah, alright, suppose witchers don’t seem the musical type. Unfortunately, I found myself in some rather hot water and was cursed into well...this.” His hands gestured in a fashion as if Geralt hadn’t noticed the array of feathers and scale that covered most of his body. 

“Let me guess, you slept with the wrong wife.” Geralt said with a huff. 

“Ah! If only!” Geralt did not miss the way the smile faltered for a brief moment. “You see it was actually my parents who did this.” 

“Your parents?” Geralt couldn’t exactly attest to his own blood being well, caring, and he had seen plenty of children mistreated by their parents over his years of travel, but he had never heard of a parent cursing their own kin. 

“Well, I suppose they wanted to be rid of me. Murder was probably a tad too messy, so why not just have me turned into a bird. Or, I think that’s what they were going for. Either way, my parents were not ones to spend a lot of money, much less on me, and so their bargain bought magic made me...this instead. Still got rid of me though, did it not? Can’t exactly show my face anywhere without the risk of being stoned, hmm?” Geralt merely grunted in response, not really equipped to handle this sudden outpouring of tragedy, part of it hitting a little too close to home.

Suddenly the supposed bard’s face lit up. “But you, you’re a witcher! And you may not be able to do magic, but surely you must know a powerful sorcerer or sorceress who could break this curse!” Geralt’s gaze was quickly averted. True, he did know a few, one in particular, but that didn’t mean he liked to seek them out.

“Ah! You do! I can tell from that look on your face. Anyone who has had any real experience with one looks as though they’ve been kicked in the shin at the thought of them. Please, you’ve got to help me!” He places a pleading hand on the side of Roach’s saddle and Geralt roughly yanks it off. 

“I’m not in the business of escorting cursed troubadours from witch to witch in order to help him turn into a real boy. Besides, I don’t work for free, and as you so helpfully mentioned you gave away the last of your things to the farmer’s wife.” The man stood there, holding his wrist, staring at it as his eyes flicked back and forth as if reading an invisible book. Geralt gave a huff and shook Roach’s reins, putting her into a trot. 

“Wait, wait! I can pay you! I’ve...I’ve got money! Loads!” and for the second time that day Geralt made the mistake of stopping and hearing this fool out. 

“Well, um. Not entirely. I mean...I...I don’t have it on me right now! But, I assure you when this is all said and done I can pay you handsomely!” That was it. Geralt dismounted Roach and grabbed the sword from his back with a growl. “Ah. Wait I can assure you, friend!” Jaskier stuttered out, his hands rising up in a display of innocence. “I’m actually a Viscount, or Viscount to be, of Lettenhove. It’s why my parents tried turning me into a bird, to keep me from the family fortune.” He gulped as the tip of Geralt’s sword pressed into his ribs. “Bring me to a sorcerer, heal me of this curse, allow me to return home and take the title that is rightfully mine and you shall leave with however much gold you can carry, this I swear.” Jaskier’s eyes were unmoving, staring straight into Geralt’s, his breath slow and even. 

“Swear it?” Geralt growled out.

“Swear it.” he said with an answering nod. In one fluid motion Geralt returned the sword to its scabbard on his back. “Ah! I can even give you my lute as collateral if you would like? I promise it truly is the most precious, well only, thing I own.” Jaskier said, making to pull it from his back.

“I don’t want your stupid lute.” grumbled Geralt as he hoisted himself up onto Roach. 

“Lovely. Then I can play us some songs as we travel to keep ourselves busy!” The bard gave a single strum of the strings before Geralt shot him a look. 

“Quiet.” he growled. 

“Oh. No music, alright, we can spend the time getting to know each other, as I’m afraid I don’t even know your name and-”

“Geralt. And quiet.” the witcher said as he kicked Roach into a slow walk.

“Right, Geralt. Of course.” muttered the bard, falling into step behind him. 

Geralt only knew of one sorceress who could possibly be strong enough to free the bard from his curse and he would need all the patience he had on the long trek north. One slip of his emotions and he truly doubted Yennefer would do anything for him, much less some random bard he scooped out of the woods of Velen. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier head out to find Yennefer in hopes she can aid in breaking the curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you're coming back after chapter 1 you may notice the tag changes. I didn't think there'd be any Geralt/Yennefer, but Geralt is really a sub when it comes to Yen. Don't worry, Geralt/Jaskier is still endgame, it's just that Geralt has two hands.

They’d had to avoid the main roads as Jaskier’s appearance wasn’t exactly subtle. The first thing Geralt did was toss him his cloak, to which Jaskier had spent the better part of the afternoon bemoaning the smell. Geralt had even so kindly dug him out a pair of spare cotton trousers that held at Jaskier’s waist with a length of rope. Though the hood was deep and the length hid most of Jaskier’s dark plumage, his scaled hands and feet still risked exposure. They’d stopped near Hindhold where Geralt managed to trade the ring from Mikel for a pair of cheap boots and elbow-length gloves from the local leatherworker. Jaskier complained even more about how the shoes made his feet ache and his nails had cut through the seams on the fingertips. 

“Melitile, these clothes are barely befitting a common drunk much less a bard of my skill. They’d laugh me out of the pub after one look if I dared step on stage dressed like this,” he said sulkily, plucking at the spare threads during one of their many stops. 

“They’d do far worse than throw you out if you came in looking like a half-plucked chicken,” replied Geralt, sick of Jaskier’s grumbling. Though the bard shot him a look, it did buy Geralt a few more blessed moments of silence. 

Hiding away Jaskier's appearance didn't completely stop passersby from drawing notice to the pair. It seemed he craved attention, giving whistles to travelers, or reciting a quick poem on the spot when their beauty would strike him with inspiration. Thankfully Geralt’s glares kept most strangers from looking back more than once. 

With no others to keep Jaskier company, all his singing and chattering fell on Geralt’s ears instead. During that first day, Geralt would bark at him to shut up, even going so far as to threaten Jaskier with his sword on a few occasions. At first, this would scare Jaskier into keeping quiet for a few minutes, but as the sun began to wane and Geralt stopped them to make camp Jaskier spoke up once more.

“You know, for all your bluster and growling and ‘Shut up Jaskier or I’ll pluck your tail feathers and sell them to a milliner’,” the bard’s voice dropping into a comical growl, “That you would actually harm a feather on my little head.” He was smiling over at the witcher from where he sat atop the cloak he had laid out on the ground, plumage shimmering in the setting sun. Geralt, who was busy collecting wood, merely arched an eyebrow at him and let out a low hum. “If you truly wanted rid of me you could have killed me back at my cabin.”

“Or I’m merely waiting to take everything gold in that fancy villa of yours, Viscount.” Geralt reminded him with a snap of his fingers as the dry tinder took light. “Test my patience enough and I’m sure I can still fetch a pretty price for your parts at the nearest alchemists or collector of oddities.”

He had expected the threat to keep Jaskier’s mouth shut, but his odd smile only grew. “Yes, yes. What a big scary witcher. Do let me know when dinner is ready.” With that, the bard leaned back against a tree, closed his eyes, and began strumming his lute.

_There was a young sailor_

_Who looked through the glass,_

_And spied a fair mermaid_

_With scales on her ass_

Geralt couldn’t help but stew in silence as he began skinning the rabbit caught earlier. Many still turned and ran when they say a witcher stalk into town, him especially with his bloody past. Yet not even a day after Jaskier thought Geralt had come to kill him, he felt comfortable enough to jest and prod. He thought it safe to close his eyes around a witcher. Geralt’s face set into a frown, not really sure what to make of it all. 

The following days passed in much the same way, though Jaskier grew bolder, asking him all manner of questions. From the monsters he’d fought, to the women he’d bedded, or the more mundane like his favorite Temerian wine. Geralt rarely provided him more than a one-word response, if he decided to answer at all. However, Geralt quickly learned that if he didn’t engage Jaskier in conversation then the bard would instead choose to sing, which at times was far more grating. It didn’t help that Jaskier’s musical repertoire consisted of mainly raunchy bar songs that he would try to get Geralt to join in on the choruses of. ( “Really, Geralt! I find it hard to believe you’ve never heard ‘Four Drunken Maidens’ it’s been quite popular across all Redania!”) The others were particularly maudlin ballads of war or lost love. Jaskier seemed to favor those after a few hours of empty road, or late into the evening. His voice wouldn’t carry as much, but the complicated notes and chord changes would even leave Geralt impressed, far beyond the skill of any troubadour he’d usually encounter in small-town inns trying to make a coin or two. 

It takes nearly three full days of incessant questioning and singing before the towers of Novigrad could be seen on the horizon line. Geralt couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight, and his body sagged with relief. 

“Ah, Novigrad. I do hope you know where this witch of yours is, as I don’t think wandering aimlessly around the city will be good for either of us,” piped up Jaskier at his side.

That sense of relief was instantly crushed by the closest thing to anxiety a witcher could experience. Right, they were here to see Yennefer. Last he had heard she’d holed up outside Novigrad, keeping an eye on the growing city, carefully influencing some of the elites. That, however, had been months ago and he couldn’t be sure she was still here. Geralt also never knew how their meetings would go, sometimes they would just lay in bed for days, having sex and drinking wine which was always preferable. Others would have Geralt knee-deep in some fuck-off swamp collecting drowner tongues for whatever potion Yen was concocting. The last time they’d departed ended in a screaming match and Yennefer portalling off to gods knows where. This also wasn’t uncommon, but it always made their next meeting tense until one of them could finally admit they’d been an ass or, more likely, the kissing started. Geralt hoped it would be the latter as last time the argument had definitely been his fault. Then again he didn’t exactly want Jaskier to know of his and Yennefer’s relationship as he could already hear the volley of questions.

If they did manage to find Yennefer, this was going to be a long day. 

Jaskier chatted away about Novigrad’s history as a port-city or some other fact he seemed to have an endless supply of, but as they grew closer Geralt held up a hand. He dismounted Roach and with a finger pointed into Jaskier’s chest said, “The town on Novigrads south bank in mainly populated by elves and dwarves since the city won’t let them inside the walls, but that doesn’t mean they’ll take kindly to me, and especially not you. So keep your hood up, and keep quiet.” Jaskier thankfully nodded and drew a finger across his lips. 

“Quiet as a door mouse and as invisible as an elf in a Toussaint vineyard!”

Geralt leveled him with a look. “There are no elves in Toussaint, they were all killed off.”

“Exactly!” Jaskier replied, far too cheerily. Geralt turned with a groan, grabbing Roach’s lead as they reached the outer fields of the city. He liked the small community that had grown across the bridge from Novigrad. It mainly exported textiles that could be used to make the extravagant clothing of the wealthy in the neighboring city. Its fields were lush with an array of flowers that were used for dyes and a few lucrative dwarves had taken to use for farming honey bees. This meant the whole village smelled lovely in spring, aided by the tall walls surrounding Novigrad proper helping to keep most of the city stench out. The houses were all painted with floral designs to complement the intricate fabrics that were woven here. It certainly beat any of the muddy and dirty towns found farther away from the main hubs of civilization, though this close to the city meant Geralt also rarely found work. 

Geralt’s eyes scanned the folk milling about, searching for anyone who seemed they may be willing to help a witcher. He knew it wouldn’t be hard to find out if Yennefer still resided here, as a powerful human sorceress with black hair and a biting attitude was sure to stand out amongst the towns other residents. It was simply a matter of finding someone willing to talk to him. He was too monstrous for the average human of this world and too human for the elves and dwarves. He eyed what seemed to be a half-elven woman pining up laundry when he felt a tug at the edge of his gambeson. Geralt looked down to see a young dwarven girl tugging at his clothes. Her eyes were wide and she didn’t even have any whiskers growing in yet. 

“The witch says to take you to her.” She smiled broadly up at him, her fingers leaving his gambeson and reaching upwards. Geralt looked around the streets but didn’t see any mothers quickly running to pull the girl away or anyone really paying them any mind beyond a curious glance. He held his hand out to hers, her grasp so small it barely fit round three of his fingers. He heard Jaskier coo and tensed his shoulders.

“The White Wolf led around like a pup by a little girl.” Geralt sent what he hoped was a murderous look to the cloaked figure behind him. “Yes, sorry, staying quiet.” 

The three, and Roach, weaved in and out of the bustling villagers, heading beyond the houses towards the bank of the river separating them from the main city. On its bank sat a fishing shack, small and decorated with the same floral designs. No nets or poles sat on its porch, as one may expect from such a place, but instead crates of bottles and chest. Geralt felt his medallion hum at the powerful magic surrounding it. His nerves were so on edge he didn’t even notice the little girl slip away before he looked down and saw she was no longer there. From behind him, Jaskier spoke up.

“Well. Is this your witch?” Above the dull lapping of waves against the shore Geralt could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat quicken. 

“This is her. And don’t call her mine or she’ll sooner stuff the both of us then help.” He stepped forward, looping Roach’s reins on one of the old, rotted dock posts. 

“Right. Of course. She’s a witch. Power-tripping and scary comes with the territory.” the bard grumbled behind him. 

The two walked up the creaking stairs towards the door, feet crunching in the sand that blew lazily across the deck. Geralt raised a fist, poised to knock and held it mere inches from the wood. Nothing scared a witcher. Except maybe an angry witch. 

“Geralt I do hope you’ll come in before you die of old age because I’m afraid a corpse on my doorstep is a rather unbecoming sight,” came a slow and easy voice from the open window.

Of course, she knew he was here. With a heavy sigh Geralt turned the knob and pushed into the small abode. 

Early afternoon sun was streaming in through the window as she stood bent over a desk where a multitude of letters and books were laid out before her. The small stove in the corner leaked smoke that seemed to fall over her hair and shoulders as if it ached to be near her. Geralt knew how it felt. Her hands were shuffling through the papers she held and her eyebrows were drawn together in concentration. It seemed that whatever knowledge they held was far more important to her than Geralt, whom she hadn’t seen in months. Perhaps they were. Seconds seemed like years before her eyes finally broke from the pages and met his. A warm smile betrayed her aloof demeanor and Geralt felt as if a fiend had caught him in its gaze, unable to move. 

“Well, I was wondering when you’d come crawling back,” she said with an easy laugh. 

Geralt cleared his throat, trying to shake himself from her spell. “You employing children to do your dirty work now?” he asked, thinking back to the young dwarven girl.

“The keyword there is employed, dear. She’s paid to keep an eye out for surly witchers and, should she spot one, bring them to me.” Yennefer slowly made her way towards him, heels thumping dully against the floor. Geralt found himself rooted to the spot. 

“Well. Here I am.” His mouth felt dry.

“Yes. Here you are,” and her hand curled against his cheek. 

A loud cough sounded from behind Geralt and the tension between them was broken. He took a step aside and found Jaskier had been crowded between him and the doorway. 

“Well, not that this isn’t just deeply touching,” Jaskier said as he squeezed past Geralt’s bulk and into the main space, “and might I say a bit awkward. If we could discuss why we’re here or um...anything actually. Unless you two would like to go at it like a couple of alley cats in heat I suppose I could wait outside.” Despite his sass, Geralt could smell the stress beginning to roll off Jaskier, spiking as Yennefer’s cool gaze slide over to him. 

“Well well, witcher. What have you brought to my doorstep?” Yen asked as she stepped forward and took the hood of the cloak in her hands, before smoothly pulling it back to reveal Jaskier’s face. Her eyes grew wide for just a moment as she took in the sight of feathers and beak. 

“Um. Hi.” Jaskier squeaked out. 

“Yen, this is Jaskier. He’s cursed,” explained Geralt dully. 

Yennefer barked out a laugh. “Cursed! Oh, this isn’t a curse this...this is a mockery of magic. This is a pitiful attempt at spellwork by what I can assume was either a child or a raging drunk.” The mirth in her voice was unmistakable. Her hands ran along the sides of Jaskier’s face, twisting it this way and that to get a good look at him. He let out a strangled sound before grabbing at her wrists and taking a step back. 

“Ok, alright, not that I don’t love being talked about is such a _kind_ manner is there anything you can actually do?” he shot back. 

Yennefer’s face grew serious, slowly crossing her arms. “What is it you want me to do exactly?” she said with a careful arch of her brow. 

Jaskier began wildly gesturing to himself, “What do I want you to do? I want you to fix me, fix this! Reverse the curse! I would like to think Geralt didn’t drag me through every swamp in the north just so he could make goo-goo eyes at some witch if she wasn’t even powerful enough to help me!” His voice had risen into a panic by the end, breath coming heavy. 

Yennefer’s face was murderous. 

“Firstly, you little pigeon, do not doubt my magical abilities for a second. I could raze villages should I so wish, or snuff out your life and any memory of it. Secondly, why should I do anything for you?” Her voice was cold and concise, the air in the small shack shivering with magical tension. 

Jaskier stood dumbstruck. “I..um. I can see why the two of you get on.” he stuttered out. 

With a sigh, Geralt placed a hand between the two. “Yen, do it for me.” 

Yennefer couldn’t help but let out another snort of laughter. “And what stake have you in turning some peafowl into a man. Surely the two of you don’t know one another.”

“We do, actually-”

“We don’t” 

Jaskier shot Geralt a look. Pinching the bridge of his nose Geralt really wondered why he had thought bringing the bard to Yennefer of all people was a good idea. Sailing all the way to Skellige to hunt down a druid would have probably been less painful even if it meant sitting in the hold of a ship with Jaskier for an extra week. 

“It’s a contract, Yen, that’s it. I find someone to turn him back. I get paid.” 

“Alright, and what do I get if I help him?” She said, looking between the two of them. 

Jaskier shuffled nervously, rubbing the fraying edge of the cloak between his fingers. “I suppose I could offer you the same as Geralt. See, I am to be Viscount once I return to my human state and I’d be glad to offer you any wealth you can-” Yennefer’s sharp laugh cut him off. 

“I have no need for the paltry coin of some backwater viscount.” She leveled her gaze solely on Geralt. “How about you? What can you offer me?”

Geralt thought for a long moment, running inventory of the things currently stored in Roach’s saddlebags. He highly doubted Yennefer had any use for the bloodmoss or rabbit hides that took up much of the room. 

“I’ll owe you one, Yen.” he stated, hoping she would take it.

She rolled her eyes. “If you recall the childish manner in which you stormed out during our last meeting then I think you’ll find you owe me several already, Geralt.” 

“Ok, I would like to hear about that actually,” Jaskier spoke up. Geralt briefly considered strangling him and forgetting the whole thing. 

“Yen, please.” 

With far more dramatics then Geralt thought necessary Yennefer threw her hands in the air. “Fine.” she grumbled. She seemed to think for a moment, then a dangerous smile spread across her lips.

She strode toward him, looping an arm in his. “ Maximillian Borsodi is a rather affluent businessman in Novigrad and hosting a spectacular party at his estate next month. I shan’t show up alone so you will join me.”

“Yen, anything but-”

“No. No buts.” Geralt’s shoulders sagged in defeat and he let out a tired wheeze. Yennefer clapped her hands together in delight. “Wonderful! I’m so glad you agreed!” She twirled away from his grasp. “Oh I know the most marvelous tailor here in town, he’ll need to get your measurements before you-” 

“Elihal?” questioned Jaskier. 

Yennefer slowly turned her head to look at him, face quizzical. “Yes, how did you-”

“Oh, I absolutely love his embroidery work! I wouldn’t be caught dead showing up to a Novigrad function in anything but his tunics. Not to mention the masks he crafts!” Jaskier enthused. “Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve been to a proper masquerade, though I don’t suppose I’d need one now,” he said with an awkward grin, a finger absentmindedly brushing against his feathered cheek.

The corner of the sorceress’s mouth quirked upwards and she seemed to finally regard Jaskier as something other than a nuisance. “Perhaps you are a viscount after all, duckling.” Shaking her head as if to dispel any growing sense of fondness she quickly strode to the other side of the room and began flipping through the books that lie upon her desk. 

“Alright, Geralt, I’ll need you to stand against the far wall. Fowl, you,” and she made to manhandle Jaskier into a spot near the center of the room, “here.” She stood in front of him, hands splayed out, ghosting inches above his skin. An electric blue filled the air and her eyes shut in concentration. The light grew in intensity and an almost nauseating hum grew louder and louder. Jaskier tensed his whole body, eyes screwing close before a pop burst forth and the room fell silent. 

Geralt blinked the spots from his eyes and tried to ignore the ringing in his ears. As his vision cleared he took in Jaskier who looked…

The same. 

The bard seemed equally confused as he held out his still black, scaly hands before him. “So is this one of those...slow working spells? Just need to sleep it off for a few hours and I’ll be back to my usual handsome self or…?”

Yennefer stared at him, mouth in a thin line. “No, no I need to just. Try again.”

Once more the blue light emanated from her hands, the same crackle and pop of energy and...nothing. 

“I...I don’t get it.” she murmured, circling the still feathered bard. 

“What do you mean you don’t get it?” he gasped out. “What was all that nonsense about, erasing my existence and leveling cities? It seems a farm maid could pluck a bird faster than you!” 

“Oh would you shut it, I never said I could take down a whole city, and I need to concentrate.” A faint blue glow enveloped a startled Jaskier and Yennefer began muttering quietly under her breath in elder speech. 

Geralt stood silently by, appraising the situation. Yennefer hadn’t even snapped at Jaskier for talking back to her and seemed utterly perplexed which, for Yen, was...scary. Minutes passed as Yennefer walked back and forth between Jaskier and her books that she consulted with intense fervor. Jaskier’s initial annoyance seemed to turn into genuine panic, as his heartbeat increased and his fingers once again began worrying at the edge of the cloak. Geralt silently hoped it wouldn’t catch on the claws and snag. 

Finally, with one last scan of a page, Yennefer stood and leveled them both with a heavy gaze. “I cannot fix this.” 

Jaskier stood dumbfounded. “What? Then why did we bother?” 

Yennefer scoffed. “Do not belittle me nor Geralt. He would not waste his time carting you from mage to mage until one happened to break the spell. He was right to bring you to me first as I am one of the few who could hope to break the magic of another.” She picked up a heavy tome and began trailing her finger down its writings. “As I mentioned when you first arrived this spell is sloppy. Had it succeeded you would probably be picking worms out of some poor sods garden right now and not here. In essence, it’s broken, incomplete. Were I to try and fix it, it’s just as likely you would turn into a bird for good as you’d end up dead or a particularly dreadful houseplant.” She shut the book with a resounding crack.

“Well, that’s,” Jaskier cleared his throat and cast his eyes to the floor, “not preferable.” 

“No. I should think not.” she replied. The three of them stood in a stretched out silence.

An intake of breath broke the quiet and all eyes turned toward Yennefer. “Oh, you two are very lucky that I am absolutely brilliant at what I do.” She tossed the book in her hands onto the table with a heavy thud, sending papers flying. The pages were quickly joined by all manner of things as Yennefer began tossing the contents from a chest that sat against one wall. Jaskier had to duck out of the way as she sent one rather intricately carved bone dagger flying into the air behind her. 

“Yen, mind telling us what’s going on in that head of yours? You’re the only one of us who can read minds,” Geralt asked, drawing near.

“She can what?” squeaked Jaskier. 

“That spell. That terrible, godsawful, frankly embarrassing spell. It’s unique, something all its own. And that means the caster’s signature is all over it. With the right, aha-,” she cut herself off as she rose to her feet, hands clutching a small yellow crystal. “With this and a simple locating spell, I should be able to locate the original caster. You can hunt them down, convince them to reverse the spell. Or kill them,” she said with a shrug, “I don’t really care.” She set the crystal in a rather dusty metal apparatus that stood in the corner of the room and, taking a piece of coal from the stove, began drawing outlines of runes across the walls and floors. 

“And that would work?” spoke up Jaskier, as he eyed the growing spellwork curiously. “Killing them?”

Yennefer shot him a wicked smile over her shoulder. “My, my, bloodthirsty little thing aren’t we?”

“I’d prefer not to kill anyone,” butted in Geralt.

“Yes and that’s where the convincing comes in, and thankfully you’re both excellent at small talk,” her voice dripping with sarcasm. “But, if it comes to it then yes. The spell is weak and shoddy. Any magic-user worth their salt are taught to draw their energy from elsewhere in the world, but your average, undisciplined hedge mage will draw that power from themselves. Meaning, you take away their life, their energy, and there will be nothing to fuel the curse. Boom! You’re free.” She gives a perfunctory swipe of the coal against the wall before standing back and taking in her design. It was far too complicated for even Geralt to understand despite Kaer Moehrn teaching the young witchers a variety of magic symbols. 

“Alright, turtledove if you could just stand in front of the crystal, like so.” Yennefer said with a gesture to the floor. 

“You could use my name you know, instead of whatever bird comes to mind. I don’t even look like a turtledove!” Despite his complaint, Jaskier moved obediently to the spot across from the crystal.

“I suppose I could, though then you may think I actually care about you.” she cooed.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want the woman responsible for my humanity to go caring about me now would we?”

“Quiet. I’ve got to concentrate. Focusing on the initial moment of the curse being cast will help tremendously.” Yennefer said, placing herself before Jaskier and shutting her eyes.

The bard’s face screwed up in a rather hard to read expression underneath all those feathers and beak, but he still closed his eyes and let out a steady breath. The familiar blue glow returned to her hands as she spoke, “ _Darganfod modron aedd._ ” A yellow beam shot from the crystal, piercing through Jaskier’s back, though he didn’t seem to react. From his front, the same yellow beam emerged, drawn to Yennefer’s blue. Geralt watched as the two mixed into a soft green and Yennefer repeated the spell over and over again. The green pulsed and hummed until, with a soft fizzle, it dispersed. 

Yennefer’s eyes fluttered open and she quickly reached for a pencil and paper. Scribbling away both Jaskier and Geralt crowded around her, watching as a crude map took shape. 

“And, where is this exactly?” Jaskier asked.

“South of Gors Velen, just on the edge of Brokilon as it borders the Adalette river.” she replied, penciling in names. 

“That’s as close as you can get? That’s still a huge chunk of land!” Jaskier whined, claws running through his hair. 

“If you had a modicum of patience, jaybird then perhaps you’d let me finish.” she snapped, crossing a small X onto the parchment. “I cannot tell you specifics beyond my own knowledge of geography, just that this is where they reside.”

“Oh, well, brilliant! Just...do your magic and portal us in then!” Jaskier’s dower mood immediately brightening as he made a grand gesture. Geralt pulled a face, he hated portals. 

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Portals are unstable to begin with. For me to send you, Geralt and Roach through is already asking a lot. That, combined with your frankly volatile curse, well. It’s likely you’ll all come out the other side as just a pile of goo and feathers.” Yennefer’s voice was cherry and to the point, with an added squelching sound at the end to really drive home the point. Geralt really hated portals. 

Jaskier circled his thumb and pointer finger together as he cast a nervous glance toward Geralt. “Gors Velen is a long way off.”

“At least one weeks ride if we make good time.” Geralt answered with a heavy sigh. 

“Geralt I...I understand if you don’t-”

“Come on. We’ve still got a few hours of daylight left, we best get a head start.” Geralt said as he yanked the cloak hood back up over Jaskier’s head which elicited an odd trill from the bard. 

“Wait, you’re serious! You’ll still help me!” the bard’s voice rose in several octaves.

“Yeah, I’ll help you. Let’s just hope you’re one rich viscount.” Geralt muttered, slinging his bag onto his shoulder. 

“Oh I promise, Geralt. You shall have wealth unimaginable. Not to mention I shall sing your praises across the continent. The kind and magnificent Geralt of Rivia, protector of the misfortuned and downtrod! You shall be rich in not only gold but fame!”

“Please don’t make me already regret this.” growled out Geralt as he shoved Jaskier out the door. He turned to look back at Yennefer, who was eyeing him with something he would call sentiment if it wasn’t her. 

“Do try not to kill him. I don’t want all my work to be for naught.” She strode forward and placed a slow kiss against his lips. “ And don’t forget our date in a month. With all the coin from this job I’m sure you’ll be able to get something nice to wear.” Geralt rolled his eyes, but could not help the small smile on his lips. 

“You try not to start any fights between Novigrad’s bureaucrats while I’m away or we may lose our invitation,” he replied with a soft laugh. 

“Oh, please. As if I’d ever let any of them know I had my hand in it.” She pressed another deep kiss to his mouth.

He was about to respond when from outside Jaskier shouted, “Would the two of you stop making out! I’d rather not draw the attention of everyone in town with your moans!” Geralt groaned, feeling the return of a stress headache he didn’t think had actually left the last few days. 

“You best hurry, or you’ll make him jealous.” Yennefer chuckled against his ear. Geralt pulled far enough away to give her an odd look, but she just laughed. “Which of us is it that can read minds again?” she said, with a final kiss to his chin. Stepping apart she sighed and took in the mess she’d made of the small shack. “Go on, Geralt. I’ll still be here when you get back.” 

“Yeah. Bye, Yen.” he said, staring at her back, not entirely sure he believed her. With a final wave he pushed through the door and back onto the sandy bank where he spotted Jaskier trying to casually draw closer to Roach. 

“Jaskier!” barked Geralt, which sent the bard jumping backward. “Don’t touch Roach.” Shoving past the bard he placed a gentle hand on the horse’s neck. 

“Right. Because you get to ride on the comfy saddle while I trod along in cheap boots that would already be uncomfortable for normal human feet, much less the talons I’ve got.” Jaskier bemoaned, though he didn’t make to get any closer as Geralt pulled himself onto the saddle. 

“The longer you complain about those bird feet, the longer you’ll have them. Now, come on.” Roach started up into a slow walk, and Jaskier fell in line beside her. 

“So,” and even though Geralt couldn’t see his eyes under the hood he knew Jaskier’s gaze was on Geralt. “You and Yennefer then?”

Geralt only hummed in reply.

“I do suppose it makes sense. Crazy powerful sorceress, crazy strong witcher. How could it not happen?”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, Geralt?”

“Stop talking.” 

Jaskier only laughed in reply. “I do suppose instead I could compose that song about you.” He pulled the lute from beneath his cloak and adjusting the pegs.

“Do that and I’ll drown you in the Pontar when we get there.” 

“Yes, yes, very threatening. Though, your threats don’t scare me anymore. I know under all the growling and scowling you’re secretly a good person, Geralt, and I aim to let all of the northern continent know it.” He began to hum then, plucking out a few notes. 

Something odd settled in Geralt’s stomach at the bard’s words. He didn’t know what it was, but it made his hands tighten on the reins as they got on the road headed south.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know how long I spent staring at maps and reading the wiki on geography for the witcher just so I could try and decipher where Lettenhove MIGHT be? Far too long for this stupid fic. I also took quite a few liberties with magic in the witcher-verse but it seems like they're also playing fast and lose with the rules.
> 
> (Easter egg for all my Elihal stans out there. You know who you are.)

**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier's bird look is based off a European Starling and his curse is inspired by the Witcher 3 Blood and Wine DLC where one of the quests you help a girl who has been cursed to turn into a bird. Other than the general look the similarities stop there. (Her name is Vivienne de Tabris if you would like to look her up or the quest is called The Warble of a Smitten Knight. Why she would want to stop being a sexy bird lady when her boyfriend is totally into it is beyond me.)
> 
> This fic will have some references to in-game lore and events but nothing necessary for you to understand I hope.
> 
> Song is Pretty Peggy found here: http://www.traditionalmusic.co.uk/bawdy-songs/008311.HTM


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